Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy (12 page)

The zombie stood on wobbly legs. Once it was upright and steady, it stepped forward.

“Mr. Stommel, would you like me to call you an ambulance?”

The zombie slave ignored the cop’s question and stepped passed him and out the front door.

The cop turned to Murphy. “Where’s he going?”

Murphy shrugged and followed.

“Mommy, what’s wrong with his eyes?” asked a little girl standing beside a woman Murphy could only assume was Ms. Eckard.

What are they still doing outside? Taking out the trash . . . pht . . . more like neighborhood gossip.

“Ma’am, you really shouldn’t be out here,” Eric said as he stepped outside.

“Is he all right?”

“Ma’am, please go inside,” Eric said.

Murphy just watched and jotted down notes as the zombie walked straight toward the woman. Its head tilted to the left in curiosity as it raised its arms to shoulder length; in a few more steps it’d be upon her.

Ms. Eckard, obviously unnerved by Mr. Stommel’s behavior, put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and tucked her behind her. “Charlie . . . Charlie, what are you—”

The little girl screamed as the zombie’s hands clasped around her mother’s neck. Tears pooled at the base of her eyes as she kicked Mr. Stommel in the shins.

“We’ve got to do something,” Eric said as he rushed to the woman’s side.

Murphy stood there. Memories flashed before him when he saw the little girl cry. Memories he had buried deep down and locked away. A thirteen-year-old boy, naked, scared and cold, knelt beside his dead mother. The flesh was peeled off the left side of her face with claw marks in the muscle tissue, and the eye missing from its socket. Her chest was an empty crater, the rib cage cracked open and pointed toward the heavens with intestines strewn around the body from the creature responsible for digging out its favorite parts.

“Let. Her. Go!” Eric demanded as he tried to pry the zombie’s hands from the woman’s neck, but the creature simply ignored him.

The skin on the woman’s face was darkening as a bluish hue stretched across her features.

“Mommy!”

Murphy snapped out of his self-pity and leaped over the railing on the front porch. With the agility and strength of the wolf, he pushed Eric aside, removed the zombie’s hands from around the woman’s neck, twisted the creature around and sent him crashing into the stucco wall. The zombie grunted on impact and fell backward.

Ms. Eckard leaned forward as she rubbed her neck and took deep breaths. The air wheezed through the strained airway.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

The zombie sat up.

“What is going on?” Eric asked as he withdrew his gun and aimed it at Mr. Stommel.

“I told you to put that away.” Murphy knelt down and took the sobbing girl’s chin in his hand. He tilted her head upward and looked her in the eyes. “Get your mother inside and lock the door.”

She nodded, grabbed her mother’s hand, and obeyed.

Murphy withdrew his handcuffs from his belt. “He’s drugged. It’s not his fault. We just need to wait for the drugs to pass through his system.”

“Or we can take him in to get his stomach pumped.”

“Now we’re on the same page,” Murphy said, impressed by the cop’s quick thinking.

Mr. Stommel was on his feet again and as he turned around, Murphy slammed him into the house once more, pulled his arms behind him, and slapped the handcuffs on.

“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,” Eric said.

“Thanks. I workout.”

“So I see.”

“Would you mind taking him to the hospital?” he asked as he guided Mr. Stommel toward him.

“I don’t know. He’s kind of creeping me out.”

“When’s back-up coming?”

“There was an accident on I-95 and with the other calls . . . I honestly don’t know.”

“The quicker the drugs are out of his system, the quicker we have our answers. I’d rather not pull rank here.”

“Okay . . . okay,” Eric said, gyrating his hands in front of his chest as he spoke. He escorted the zombie to his squad car.

So the Bokor left orders for Charlie to kill the witnesses. Either he underestimated the time his drug would take affect or how quickly we’d arrive on the scene. Regardless, he won’t make that mistake twice. I need to act, but where to start?

Even with his heightened senses, the smell of rum and tobacco was too faint outside with the mixture of countless other odors.

I need a stronger mark. What I need is the wolf’s full power.

“Stop struggling . . . will you . . . lower your head . . . I could use a hand here.”

Murphy smiled as he watched the zombie’s head continuously bump into the roof of the car as the beat-cop tried to shove him into the back seat. He walked over to them and put his hand on the back of Charlie’s neck. “I’ll hold his head down. You push him in, okay?”

The cop took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Murphy applied pressure and the zombie’s head lowered, then he nodded and the cop shoved him in.

“You should have let me shoot him.”

“Just get him to the hospital.” Murphy pulled out another business card. “Call me when he’s clean and ready to talk.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going back inside. See if I can find a lead and make sure the dog’s okay.”

“Good luck.” The officer walked to the driver’s side of the squad car, got in, then pulled away.

Once inside, Murphy sought out something belonging to the woman, a piece of clothing, toothbrush—anything that held her scent. The Doberman followed him room to room and watched every move he made.

“You could help, you know.”

The dog barked and darted off. Murphy followed. The Doberman scooted low and crawled under the bed. When he came out the other side, a pair of pink panties dangled from its mouth.

“Well all right, then,” he said, kneeling down. The dog brought the lingerie to him. He took the panties and raised his eyebrows. “Kinky, but it’ll do.” He placed the panties to his face and breathed in deeply.

With the scent committed to memory, Murphy walked over to the dresser on the opposite wall. He looked long and hard at his reflection as he contemplated his next move. Should he play defense and wait for another crime scene and hope for a break, or should he tap into the wolf lying dormant within and go on the offense? He didn’t like doing it, but this was one of those rare occasions he’d consider letting the beast out. Without the full moon the change would not be complete. His body would be in a flux between man and beast, with both personalities fighting for dominance. The beast was a wild animal, unpredictable and dangerous.

He turned to the dog. “Will you follow me? Keep me in line?”

The Doberman hunched forward, playfully wagging its tail, and barked.

“All right, then.” He turned back to the mirror and stared deep into the eyes of his reflection.
Wake up! Time for you to earn some redemption.

Murphy’s palms slammed down hard on the dresser as each breath grew heavy. The irises of his eyes changed. The roundness stretched to an elliptical shape and the brown softened to a yellowish hue. His crew-cut blond hair grew wildly to shoulder length and covered his now-pointed ears. Pain surged in his gums as his canine teeth elongated and protruded out of his mouth. Fingernails lifted and fell away as claws capable of stripping flesh from bone emerged from under the skin. While he still had a rational mind, he swept the DNA samples off the dresser and deposited them into his breast pocket.

A maniacal chuckle reverberated in his throat as he gazed upon himself. Half-man, half-beast, he sniffed the air and found the trail, then turned to the Doberman. “Think you can keep up?” His voice lost its charm, now gravelly and low.

He darted to the window and leapt threw it. Glass shattered and rained on the ground. Tiny lacerations formed and healed before his feet touched down. With his footing secured, he ran east, hot on the scent. The Doberman followed through the now-open window.

He darted in between a group of women walking on the sidewalk. They shrieked as he passed by; the swift breeze hiked up a skirt and one of the women stumbled in her high heels.

“Hey!”

“What, you think it’s Halloween or something!”

“Pervert!”

He snarled and gnashed his teeth in return and made a move toward them, but the Doberman barked and ran interference. The beast growled his displeasure, but returned to the hunt. Though the beast seemed angry with the dog’s defiance, Murphy could tell it appreciated running with the animal, the pack mentality of the wolf finally being appeased after a century of solitude.

Tongues flopped to and fro as they ran; spittle flew in every direction. The scent was now stronger. They were close. They turned off the main road, down a dirt path and came upon a chain link fence. Without missing a step, Murphy crouched and put all his strength into a single bound. He cleared the fence with ease. The Doberman barked and he stopped, then turned back. The dog looked left then right and spotted a blue-metal dumpster overflowing with trash. It leapt onto a pile of trash bags and sprang forward so quickly he didn’t lose his footing, then bounded off the upper rim of the dumpster. It landed safely on the other side of the fence, its legs folding at the perfect time to absorb the impact, but it took a second before running toward Murphy.

Together again, the two ran toward a decrepit building. Murphy remembered it used to be a storage warehouse for a furniture store long since bankrupt. Graffiti covered nearly all of the first floor of the building, a montage of whimsical portraits and fancy letters spelling a variety of curse words and gang names. Out of arms’ reach from the vandals, the once-red brick had been stripped of its vibrant color from the Florida sun and blackened with mold. Shards of glass decorated the ground surrounding the building from the broken panes. No one cared enough to board them up. The light from a bonfire danced on the walls of the second floor and Murphy smelled the body odor of at least a dozen squatters inside.

He crept to the side of the building and shimmied along the wall until coming upon a side door; the metal dented and bent inward, allowing him to crawl inside. The Doberman followed as stealthily as he could into the stairwell.

A roar of excitement from up above caused the dog to jump back. It looked up with its ears tipped back and eyes wide.

“It’s okay, boy,” Murphy said in the softest voice he could, though his vocal cords still sounded as if they were made of sandpaper. The dog didn’t seem to mind.

Murphy led the way up the concrete steps. He hugged the wall, concealed in the shadows. The metal balusters and railing were too rusted to trust. When he reached the top, he caught sight of two sentries. His right hand shot behind him to signal the dog to stop. He obeyed.

“What you dink’s up with, Moliere?”

“Not sure. There’s definitely sum’ding different about ’em.”

“’Tis an improvement, though.”

“Oh yes. Not so serious all de time.”

“Certainly a lot more fun.”

“Ay!”

As the two men came within striking distance, Murphy leaped out of the shadows. He landed behind the two men, grabbed them by the sides of their heads, and slammed them together. Bone on bone, a loud thwack echoed in his sensitive ears and the two Haitian men fell to the floor in a slump. Before exploring the second floor, he dragged them into the stairwell. The Doberman gave the men a sniff down; once it determined they were of no threat, it followed Murphy.

A formalized percussion filled the air. He followed the beat, but remained in the shadows until he came to the source. Men pounded on drums and gongs, while women danced and shook rattles.

What are they celebrating?
he thought. He watched closely.

The Doberman tugged on the bottom of Murphy’s pant leg. He looked down at the dog, which made eye contact with him, then turned its head toward the right. Murphy followed his gaze and saw a young woman, naked and bound to a bed frame in the adjacent room.

He patted the dog on the head and walked toward her. Even from this distance he could tell her chest wasn’t rising and falling and, as he approached, the familiar scent of blood came to his nose. The tantalizing aroma excited the beast within and it took every ounce of willpower to not run over there and tear into the carcass.

Poor thing
, he thought, seeing her bosom covered in crimson.
I imagine he slit your throat after he raped you, or possibly during.
Without a description of Charlie’s girlfriend there was no way to be certain this was her, but his instincts and her aroma told him otherwise.

What a shame. Such a beauty, too
. The Hispanic girl’s long black hair lay around her angelic face, sopping with blood.
The kill is fresh
.

The dog growled and Murphy turned around. He was stared down by the barrel of a gun.

“Dude! What’s up with your face?” asked the man.

Murphy sensed the Doberman’s animosity and foresaw its next move.

The dog leaped, teeth gnashing.

Murphy reached out.

The man stumbled back out. The gun went off.

Murphy caught the dog in midair and spun around, putting his back to the assailant. The pain from the solitary bullet was a minor inconvenience, but it was well aimed and would have proven fatal to the loyal companion. After spending all those years taking lives, it filled Murphy with hope sensing that the beast put a life before its own. It released the dog, and in a whirl tackled the man to the ground and bore into the right side of his neck and shoulder. The man managed to fire off another shot, but it was wild and struck the neighboring wall.

The Doberman growled and crouched low, ready to pounce, as more men came investigating.

“Shoot it!” one of them ordered and gunshots filled the air.

Murphy stood his ground, using his body as a shield to protect the Doberman. Hot lead pierced his skin and burned his flesh; he could feel the metal move as his supernatural body pushed them back out. As one bullet hole started to heal, another took its place.